


You Are Your Father's Son.

by TheatricallyColorful



Series: Bad parents create bad children verse [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: AU, And I just had to do it, BAMF!Loki, BAMF!Tony, Badassery Galore, Because bad parents create bad children, Dead!Maria Stark, Experienced!Loki, Gen, High School, Howard's Bad Parenting, I hope, M/M, Odin's Bad Parenting, Other, Rebel!Tony, no regrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheatricallyColorful/pseuds/TheatricallyColorful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teenage AU where Howard Stark is a gambler, wasting away the large Stark fortune, trying to forget the tragic death of his wife Maria. Tony Stark is the rebellious, misunderstood genius who "refuses to apply himself in his lessons", as said by his teachers. Odin Odinson is the harsh demanding father who doted excessively on his oldest son Thor. Loki Odinson is a cold, mischievous teenager in the shadow of his golden, do-no-wrong brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In The End.

**Author's Note:**

> My first multi-chapter story. Every chapter will be based off a song, which will be the title. Told through Tony's view. Song is In The End by Linkin Park.

Tony slid a hand surreptitiously up his chest underneath his loose black New York City Strength Club tee, pulling around his fingers one earpiece to coil around his ear.

He kept his face schooled in his usual pokerface, standing rigidly in the antique handcarved seat of the Stark dining table, facing his Grandmother Pet (which was for a shortened Petunia, for she hated flowers, really) and on his right side, sitting at the head of table was his Auntie Grace Stane, who was putting up a convincing act of being the broken down victim in this situation.

Music blared comfortingly through the lone earpiece into his ear, momentarily distracting him from the short, sharp verbal showdown happening between the two ladies.

"That's the point, Grace! We consider you part of the family. And family doesn't keep secrets from each other!" Grandmother Pet exclaimed exasperatedly.

"I wanted it to be a surprise. Now don't you tell Obadiah and Howard!" his aunt replied sulkily, rubbing hands around her ballooning belly.

Grace Stane was not really his auntie, nor was Grandmother Pet his real grandmother. Technically, Grace was the wife of his legal guardian, and the friend of his father, Obadiah Stane. Howard Stark entrusted his son to his longtime friend as he gambled away the scanty remains of the Stark fortune Tony's grandfather built. His mother Maria, died years ago, from giving birth to him, and he had never felt the loving touch of a mother, only the disinterested pat of his father, and the sensation of being passed around by virtual strangers. Grandmother Pet was the older sister of his grandfather Castiel Stark, and more bossier than he was.

He didn't like Grace, Grace didn't like him. As long as she let him access his money, and do whatever he fucking wanted, he would let her drain the Stark resources even further sneakily, using the baby as an excuse. Tony, in his own opinion, thought that her ballooning belly must be some disease of the ovaries or something, because from as far as he's seen, that belly hasn't been growing in weeks.

His father was a careless man. Tony was the opposite, plowing towards the future with hope and determination, guaranteeing himself that he would revive the Stark name from the ashes and build it from the ground up. Make it a name to be proud of.

He worked hard in school, got honors, and was recognized as a teenager of great sensibilities and a bright future. But he was restricted, limited to a specific parameter and he found he couldn't grow in a controlled environment that Obadiah set him in. He was the responsible Stark, the future of this dying family, the pride, the morning star, or whatever the fuck they called him in praises as they did. As long as he kept his dark side in the dark, and continued to be the poster child of good decisions, he was loved by the family.

He never drank a drop of liquor, broke curfew a handful of times, rarely hung out with friends and preferred to roam the Internet instead.

Until Obadiah left him in the care of Grace to fend for himself, to chase after his father and convince the black sheep of the Starks to come home and rebuild the crumbling business. Tony doubted Obie's intentions, though. He was pretty sure Obie was just getting sick of having to take care of Tony's messes.

Tony was goodhearted, but with bad luck. He was smart, but he didn't apply himself enough. Whatever he did ended in disaster. He worked hard and long, but when he goofed off, the consequences of that action usually buried his hard work.

Tony had suffered through many disappointments with his mouth shut and his fist twitching. He kept quiet through years of verbal abuse and the occasional punch or beatdown. He gradually acquired a skillful poker face, hiding behind it whenever in times of duress. Such as now.

With Obie gone, and the leash loosened around his neck, he was free enough to experiment. Free enough to play around, enjoy being a teenager and that bullshit. Grace left him to his own devices but would blame him later for not listening to her when things got bad.

Without Obie to look after the business, only he and Grace were left to supervise. Which meant Tony was tied and gagged when it came to the business (because Grace assumed all responsibility and heaped blame on him) while Grace plundered the treasury mercilessly, for what she called doctor's appointments and baby things.

Tony was sure Grace deserved all the acting awards in the world.

Grace was a mercenary, gold digging bitch, one which Tony was well-acquainted with. He had suffered her for seven years without a meep to Howard or Obie.

Obie was another thing.

Disciplinarian, and control freak, he had to control everyone's lives around him, manipulating them to do things that only he would benefit from. Tony was pissed whenever Obie tried to intervene with his life.

But when Obie was left, Tony was freed. And the personality he kept tucked within himself for years burst out like a firework.

His wild, crazy, partygoing, slutty side had finally seen the light, and refused to slink back into the shadows.

And this was the reason of Grandmother Pet's impromptu visit to the Stark house right now, talking about Tony's wild behavior and major money spending.

Tony set his face in a straight line, stared at a corner for the duration of the conversation and nodded occasionally, making affirmative noises as he went. Though he took particular pleasure in assuring Grandmother Pet that Grace was pregnant and nearly due. He simply thought it was the days of gluttony coming back to her.

"And you, young man, are destroying your future!" his grandmother warned him gravelly. "Stop acting like your father. He had a good future. So close to achieving it. Hung out with the boys his age and bam! Went gambling, married some girl he knocked up, and where is he now? Running around in Las Vegas, chasing two-penny whores and wasting his life! Get your priorities straight," she advised. "You're only sixteen, Tony, and I hear you got drunk with the neighbor's kids, and you're always out! Studies first, boy." Grace smiled slightly, smug and superior, her usual  _haha, I beat you._ Tony's fists tightened.

"Yes Grandmother," he said evenly.

When would Howard's mistakes stop weighing him down? All he wanted was to be free. He didn't want to be the son of a world-class fuck up. He didn't want people to look at him and expect him to follow his father's footsteps.

He was his own person.

And one day, he would show the world, wow them with his brilliance, cow them into submission, and dominate the world with his genius.


	2. Decode.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki knows his mistakes, but he will never admit it. Especially if they think his greatest mistake is not being more like Thor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki's point of view. Chapter title from Paramore's Decode.

Loki was a people watcher.

He would tuck himself away in some corner quietly, letting the world pass him, watching the people cry, laugh and rage, rage against the dying light.

It was a way of hiding himself, of turning his attention on tiny, trivial things rather than himself, or Thor, or even Odin. He knew they were a waste of the space they occupied in his brain, when he could be watching, learning, observing.

Like that Barton kid.

Loki didn’t take psychology classes, but he had a pretty good read on people based on their actions. Like when Barton shoved his hands down his pockets and stared at the ground moodily, shifting from his left foot to the right, he was out of place. He didn’t feel like he belonged.

Loki understood that feeling. He knew the feeling of never reaching that expectation, the bar set to him, and him alone. He knew what it was like to grow in the cold shadow of Thor.

Wherever he was, whatever he did, it was always the same whispers. _“Oh, why can’t he be like Thor?” “Why can’t he be as good Thor?” “Is he really Thor’s brother? Thor isn’t like that. He’s a good, responsible boy. That Loki is nothing but trouble.”_

He would much rather let the world pass him by and burn as he watched.

-

“Loki!”

He turned, pulling out one of his earpieces, Leathermouth spilling out carelessly.

Thor grimaced at his choice in music, but refrained from speaking, He knew Loki hated Thor passing judgments about his choices.

“Yes?” Loki asked acidly, twirling one earpiece around his finger. “Father wants to see you,” Thor informed him solemnly, clasping his hands behind his back, a sign that usually meant Thor was still reeling from whatever Odin told him.

Odin was a retired military general, but that didn’t stop him from teaching what he learned in the military to his kids. Thor and Loki grew in a military regime, with “Yes sir” and the unblinking acceptance of things to come. Thor had the obedience thing, while Loki didn’t know what he gleaned from his dictatorial father.

He sighed. “Alright. I’ll be in shortly.” He turned off his iPod, and pocketed the gadget. If Odin knew Loki always used his iPod, he would have hammered it to smithereens.

He braced himself, correcting his posture as he walked to his father’s study, cracking his joints and readying himself for the verbal onslaught that always followed after an ominous call like this.

By the time Loki reached his father’s study, his black Ramones shirt in perfect alignment with his torso, his hair tucked behind his ear, and his calm, smooth face standing before Odin’s oak desk.

“You called for me, Father?” Loki asked politely, hands behind his back and his speech smooth and formal. Odin disliked the wildness of youth these days, and demanded of his sons a formality and restraint lacking in most teenagers of their generation.

“I did, Loki. Now tell me, where were you last night?” Odin asked calmly, settling back in his wingback, joining his hands together on the table, looking like a classic mafia don.

Loki internally cursed. _Goddamned Thor!_

In reality, he was out at a party, because someone told him that the band playing was great, and indeed they were. He left the house at around 11, when the party was in full swing and his house was dead to the world, and returned at four am, a few hours away from when Frigga would wake up and prepare breakfast for the family.

“I do not know what you mean, Father, as I was in bed last night,” Loki lied straightfacedly. “Stop lying to me!” his father barked. “Thor reported your absence in mind at twenty-three hundred hours!” Odin seethed. He hated any flair of rebellion, or disobedience, intentional or not.

Loki did not reply. He knew he was caught.

Odin continued, pressing the trap closer around his youngest and weakest son. “You disobeyed my direct orders to never leave without my permission!” he hollered. He stood up violently, stalking from behind the desk to face Loki, his face inches from Loki’s face. _“Where have you been?”_ he hissed quietly.

Loki did not answer. His answer would enrage his father only further, throwing him in a blinding rage not even Frigga could tame.

Thor must’ve heard the rustle of his sheets, investigated the source of the noise and found his bed empty and the wind streaming merrily through his window.

“Was it with some slut?” His father hissed. “Was it Sif, or Sigyn? Tell me boy!” he roared, clamping large hands on either side of Loki and shaking him profusely.

Stars danced in Loki’s vision, but he refused to give in. He would not give the satisfaction to his hated father.

Odin shook him some more, rattling his son about blindly. When he saw his son refused to answer, he let the boy go, letting the frail, weedy body clatter noisily to the floor. Loki gasped for breath, and cursed his father in every way he knew, the silent stance of rebellion, the words echoing in his mind, _I am not afraid to keep on living. I am not afraid to walk this world alone._

“Go,” Odin released his son with a word, watching the boy stand up unsteadily, fleeing like the room was on fire, and he had to go. He let his head to drop to his hands and exhaled in defeat. That boy, why couldn’t he be more like Thor? Obedient and self-disciplined.

Loki was running, taking two steps at a time at the same time he was catching his breath, reveling in the feeling of emptiness and freedom, without those large hands gripping him tightly and terrifying the fuck out of him. He passes Thor, and barely spares him a glance, only a fleeting glare, before he launches himself out of the door onto the balcony. He spied the ladder leaning quietly against the brick stone wall and he clambered up, settling down on the shingles of his roof.

Thor saw the blur of gray and black that was his brother, saw the haunted eyes narrowed in a brief, piercing glare before he spirited himself away to wherever he tucked himself away after brief visits to Odin’s study.

Loki watched the world revolve, watched the sun dip down the horizon, watched the populace scutter about, and wished himself away.


	3. The Sharpest Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony, with a dash of snarkily bitching Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from My Chemical Romance's Sharpest Lives.

When Obie had left to kick off the great Howard Stark manhunt, Tony and his closest people were the ones who sent him off. Grace not included.

Grace was off somewhere as usual, spiriting away with her what was supposed to be Tony’s allowance for the week until Obie worked out the details of his trust fund. Tony only shook his head in disbelief and Obie cursed the woman soundly until his voice rasped.

Tony and Obie’s two other trusted cousins drove him to the airport that day, as Tony blinked tears away fiercely and let Aerosmith wail through his headphones. The highway blurred behind him, and the ominous gray building with the bright lights loomed over him. His heart squeezed. As much as Obie made his life hell, forced him to study his ass off for things he already knew (and didn’t need), he still found solace and comfort in him, as a father figure. Tony looked up to Obie as the father he knew Howard could never be.

And when Obie entered the terminal, never looking back, Tony knew his life would be a heavenly hell from now on.

He’d enjoy his freedom, enjoy the lack of supervision, come and go as he’d please, and not give a fuck about consequences.

But the tiny, niggling, responsible side of Tony would keep him awake for days, drowning in guilt for all the stupid things he’d done and not been able to correct without Obie’s exacting guidance. He really let himself go; neglecting to take down notes and opted to chat his seatmates up, or toying with his phone and iPod.

He partied, ignored curfew, started to drink liquor, fooled around, and generally made an ass of himself in public.

Bittersweet revenge swooped down on the day of the exams. Tony Stark was almost dumbstruck for the first time in a long time. _He always knew the answer. What the hell were these questions?_

So bittersweet it was, because Tony knew it was a wake up call, but he couldn’t find it in himself to give up freedom and a social life for the sake of his drooping academics. He wanted to stop, he really wanted to, but the moment he cracked a book open or eyed his notes in interest he would remember something that he _just_ had to do on his phone. Or a song he desperately needed on his iPod.

His family life was unraveling as well. Without headstrong Obie to keep the Stark family calm and collected, the Starks were in disarray. Howard’s lady cousins watched Tony’s actions like a hawk, as the men tried to give him advice they thought he needed.

His grandparents were of no help.

“How are you, Tony?” they’d ask sweetly, and he’d reply with a benign, “Fine,” and they would talk to him about responsibility, about chastity and purity, and had Tony mentally rolling his eyes. He knew that, blah blah blah.

Tony Stark, responsible, careful son of Howard Stark, had really let himself go.

He abandoned his responsibilities, forgot about the things he was supposed to be, and discovered a new Tony he loved too much to let go of.

There was wild, impulsive Tony, and there was responsible, serious and active Tony, the black sheep against the good son, two sides of Tony in constant war with each other.

He was conflicted. He didn’t know what side to fall on. Being the black sheep was liberating, never needing to care about other people’s feelings, or the things he needed to do. But he had been the good son for so long, it was almost an instinct. No questions asked, he obeyed his elders, did his homework and studied like a good little Stark.

But it was so tiring.

Tony didn’t want to be the careful son of a careless man anymore. He didn’t want a rundown of his father’s achievements and failures and be expected to jump this high because _Howard did it_ or _Howard could’ve, if only he wasn’t so careless._

He wanted to be his own man.

He wanted to be Tony Stark, genius, restored billionaire, philanthropist.

Genius was self-conscious, they said. Oh, his genius was definitely aware of its presence. He knew it in the way every problem was just a puzzle lacking a few pieces he could fashion himself. He knew it in the way his mind clicked and whirred away busily, an idea here, an idea there, renovations for that, innovations for this, and a general burst of ideas and thoughts that could easily alleviate human suffering.

But he didn’t let a peep of genius show. He was content to be as normal as he could get, pretending to struggle with academics as his hands shaped out the answer pretty easily. He didn’t like flaunting his genius in public.

But he let himself drift back to the present and focus at the problem at hand.

“Mr. Stark, I need to speak with your aunt,” his Geometry teacher, Miss Sharpe frowns. “What is it this time?” he asks wearily. Her face softens with understanding and pity, but he knows from experience that she would still call his aunt. “You have.... an academic problem,” she whispers gently and he feels the bitterness clouding his heart again. “Of course I do,” he slumps in defeat. Grace is close to giving birth to the next Stane, and anything could rush her into premature labor and a baby wiggling out of her. Tony closes his eyes, exhales, and lets his brain puzzle it out. He can’t put Grace and her baby in any danger.

“I’m sorry Miss Sharpe, but I’m not sure if she can make it,” he starts grudgingly. “You see, she’s really close to giving birth, and I’m not supposed to push her into giving premature labor,” he explains in worry. Her face contorts in confusion. “Oh dear that is a problem,” she murmurs. “Can’t you ask anyone else?” she asks. “They’re all too busy running Stark Industries in my father’s absence,” he explains. It’s terribly convenient how most of his family is too busy to give a fuck about him.

His teacher rolls her eyes in frustration. “Work something out, Stark. I need to talk to her. It’s the second time this year I have to call her!” she throws her hands up in frustration. He nods solemnly, twisting his fingers together. “Can I go now, Sharpe?” She groans. “That’s another thing! Your lack of respect!” He’s already halfway out of the door, bag slung lazily on one shoulder. “It’s called fun, Miss!” he calls out and saunters out, calm and cool on the outside, melting and defeated on the inside.

-

Loki watches as the last of Miss Sharpe’s eighth period drift out of the room and into the corridor. Loath as he is to admit it, but he wants a little help on his equations. He isn’t a genius.

He’s about to step in the room when he notices dark, wavy hair and a stocky build wiggling in a chair in front of Miss Sharpe who seemed to be reprimanding the student in question. “Mr. Stark, I need to speak with your aunt,” she says, her lips pressed into a displeased frown. Loki’s eyebrow quirks in surprise. A teacher displeased with Tony Stark? That vivacious, playful but eerily responsible and reserved spoiled rich kid? Odin must’ve hit him really hard, because Tony is a teacher’s fantasy. Image and action wise.

He takes a step back and listens to Tony’s half-sincere remarks about the unavailability of any family members. He frowns and settles down to watch the crowds thin out, see the last bouncing polyester bag out of his sight and into freedom. He could ask Miss Sharpe tomorrow, but the situation is curious enough to make Loki stick around. Stark’s friends must not know, because they aren’t hanging around in the corridor waiting for him.

Loki reflects on the changes Stark seems to have gone through the past few months. An unexpected and completely opposite side of him recently emerged, leaving much of his character in shady doubts.

But Loki remembers it’s none of his business and prepares to plod away as Tony saunters out of the doorway, leaving a harried and frustrated Miss Sharpe alone in the room. Suddenly Loki loses the urge to relearn today’s lesson, and goes to follow Stark instead.

Tony notices him from the corner of his eye.

“Hey Odinson,” Stark greets. He makes a face at the name. “Hello, Stark,” he returns the greeting. “’Sup?” Tony asks, looking ahead, hands shoved in pockets. “The ceiling,” Loki retorts before he can think of a proper response and Tony turns to look at him, gaping. “Whoa, Shakespeare, calm thy tits. No need to snark out at me.”

Loki shrugs carelessly. “You asked what was up. Obviously, the ceiling.” Tony ponders a moment and breaks out in a grin. “You’re pretty cool, contrary to public opinion,” he remarks and Loki shrugs again. “I don’t need to be cool. I have myself, and my iPod. That’s enough.” Tony snorts. “Forever alone much?” Loki turns to him, a sickly sweet expression plastered on his face. “At least I’m not some attention whore,” he mocks. “I don’t salivate after any morsel of affection people my way can throw at me. I don’t try to act like a bad boy or pretend to be a rebel. At least I have some pride in myself,” he sneers. “When you need a lesson in being real, Stark, look for me. I can provide more information on that aspect than any willing Neanderthal in this school.”

Tony gapes at him as he walks away, awash with pride and smugness.


	4. The Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Linkin Park's the Catalyst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if I haven't updated in a while. :( Our shitty internet committed suicide.

Loki wants others to hurt.

When he drags his sharp nails against skin, he wants to see the blood bead out, to see the pain etch out on their faces like it was fated to do so.

He wants them to burn like he did.

But he rarely indulges himself. He knows how razor sharp he can be.

As he walks away from Tony Stark, he expects to feel a vindictive pleasure. He expects to feel proud of himself, to feel smug and satisfied. He expects to feel victorious.

And he does. But it’s an empty victory, a victory leaving him with nothing to celebrate. In his mind, he’s just spilled out a reserve of his thoughts, and that’s supposed to be a loss. But he sees the emotion flicker unwisely on Stark’s face and feels maliciously happy.

But it feels _empty_ and that aggravates him.

He’s supposed to celebrate the fact that he’s one upped the infamously snarky Stark. He doesn’t.

He doesn’t know why.

Sometimes he can’t even understand himself.

Loki thinks of the reasons why he wants Tony to feel pain.

Tony is special. He’s that annoyingly happy and optimistic kid who jokes around with his friends, and he’s friends with everybody so he jokes around with everyone. He greets the world with that goddamned smile on his face, unwaveringly steadfast. He’s the type of person to smile bravely when his card has a failing grade and he has to bring it home.

And he always looks so fucking relieved to come to school, like his house is home to a wild beast that Tony can’t control, can’t tame, even with his award-winning smile.

It irritates Loki, yes. But why make him hurt?

Maybe it’s because of the way Tony Stark seems uninflected, happy, unbroken. Loki envies the way he walks through the crowd without a cloud of insecurity. He knows his past. He knows his future.

Loki envies that. He wishes he could have that security. Being adopted means living with the fear that one day, his shady past would jump up and maul him. He knows his past has the ability to destroy his future.

And that terrifies him more than it should.

Loki frowns and shakes the thoughts away. He has a victory to savor.

But he exits the school, striding quickly home, jacket slung over his shoulder. A sleek red convertible purrs to a gentle stop on the road next to him. “Brother, ride with us!” Thor greets, jerking his thumb merrily to the empty seat in the back behind him. Loki has little to no qualms with hitching a ride with his brother, but not on a day like this.

Not with his brother’s lap dogs in the car as well.

If he accepts Thor’s offer, he will be sitting next to Fandral. And he detests, no, despises Fandral with every fiber of his being. Perhaps even more than he hates Thor.

Fandral is one of the Warriors Three, Thor’s personal honor guards. The school population’s nickname of Thor’s lapdogs was fitting. They loved picking fights. Fandral, Volstagg, and Sif were three different characters, with one common goal: to follow Thor around like loyal, overgrown puppies. Fandral the school slut, Volstagg the quiet jock, and Sif the mystery. Oh what a trio they made.

Loki sighs. “Alright. But command your salivating dog to keep his grubby paws off me.”

Thor squints at him, confused. “But I do not have a dog in the backseat, brother. Only Fandral and Sif.”

Loki rolls his eyes and lets him figure it out.

Dumbass.

Fandral grins wolfishly and pats the seat next to him. “Come on in, princess!”

Loki’s hand constricts and he has a brief image of strangling Fandral for all he’s worth. Instead, he opts to pull his iPod out of his pocket and shifts through the songs and clicks one mindlessly, slipping his earphones on, ignoring Thor’s happy babble, and Fandral’s touchy hands as he climbs in and they speed on home.

He tries not to think of the wild range of emotions Tony Stark can produce in less than a minute, though.

It fails.

Quite miserably, if he does says so.

He curses under his breath.

He doesn’t want to think about it because he still doesn’t know what to feel at that.

-

He enters the front door and takes one look at Frigga’s lined face and knows it’s one of those days. He beelines to his room, locking the door securely behind him and takes a deep breath.

It’s Odin - Is - On - A - Rampage Day, when only Frigga can talk sense into him, and that with great difficulty. Even Thor can’t come close without drawing a little blood, he thinks ferociously, both happy and nervous and slightly terrified.

His thoughts are a muddling jumble, and his emotions are a conflicting mess that jumps up when he hears Frigga’s shrill scream. He bolts up and pushes the door away, speeding down to the kitchen, where Thor is restraining his father, who is spitting mad and kicking.

“Stop protecting the boy, Frigga!” he screams. “He has no right here anymore!”

“Odin, reconsider!” she begs, clutching at her throat in obvious fear, and holding back tears. “He has been my faithful son!”

“Not by your womb!” he spits. “That reckless, self-centered abomination is trouble, even from the beginning! He has no right in my home!”

Loki freezes by the doorway. Thor glances at his direction and sends him away with a fierce nudge of his head towards the door and tears pooling in his blue eyes, his muscles bulging and taut at the effort of keeping an enraged Odin at bay.

Loki runs.

Loki runs away from his uncertain parentage, from his golden brother, from his hateful father, from his poor mother, and from his shadowy past he could never escape.

Loki wonders what he’s done to deserve this. Wonders why at every turn all he feels is pain.

His music still blares wildly from dangling earpieces as he sprints out of the house. He runs, sprints, jumps mindlessly. He doesn’t note the sharp corners he’s taking, or the roads he’s crossing.

All he wants, all he knows is to run, to escape, to fight futilely against those hard fists and cruel words.

He finally gives in and stops, dropping sharply to a heap on the cold gravel.

He buries his face in his hands and chants in his head, _I will be strong. I will keep on living. I won’t let them beat me down._ He feels the warm wetness trailing uncertainly on his cheeks and chants harder.

He wonders how long he can fool himself with those words.


	5. Mama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from My Chemical Romance's Mama.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Tony has mother feels.

Tony stumbles out of school somehow.

He makes it home without a scratch. He’s just feeling some extreme disorientation at that disorienting conversation with Loki. What is up Loki’s ass anyway?

He checks the clock and grabs his keys. He still has time to visit her. Grace won’t care anyway.

He peels out of the driveway and drives on, slipping on shades to block the setting sun’s irritating gaze.

He slows down to a stop in front of the ornately decorated gates. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he pushes past the gates, and respectfully saunters through the green grass and the gray slabs of stone embedded in the ground.

He stops at the one with a monument of a beautiful angel being whipped around in the wind, her wings half-blown away from her body.

He drops down to the cool grass and strokes the gray tombstone thoughtfully.

“Hi Mom,” he says.

“Okay I feel stupid again, talking to a gravestone.” A soft caress of the wind blows through with him, as if urging him and he shivers, but plows on.

“Hi, Mom. How are you? Oh, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Obie’s just out, hunting Dad out, and Grace is faking a pregnancy. I think. I don’t know for certain. I haven’t lived with a pregnant woman yet. I don’t think I ever will, at this rate. Am I rambling? Oh god, I am. Well, never mind. You wouldn’t be able to answer me anyway. That would be really creepy if you did, by the way. I’d be terrified. Not amazed or happy. Just really fucking terrified. Is it okay if I swear? Oh. You won’t, or can’t answer me. I’ll stop asking questions, fine.

“Mom, I don’t think you’d be proud of me right now. I’ve done a lot of shit that would make a million mothers weep. But Mom, Mama, Mother dearest, we all go to hell. Yes, I know we’re Catholic. But Mama, I don’t believe in God. I don’t believe in a God that takes a beautiful mother away from her needy, handsome child. I don’t see the point of blind faith. I also don’t see the point of talking to a woman who’s dead, but it helps. I’m so sorry Mom.

“I can’t be the son you’ve always wanted. I’ve tried, trust me, Mom. I think you’ve been watching over me, in whatever kind of heaven or afterlife you’ve merited. I know you don’t like what you see. You’d cry your eyes out at what you must’ve seen.

“But I can’t be perfect Mama. I can’t be Howard Stark’s son, trying to make up for his father’s mistakes. I can’t carry your death around on my shoulder. I can’t smile anymore. It takes too much out of me. And honestly, I like the way I am right now. I know you don’t. But I do.

“It’s really stupid how easily I crumble under pressure or persuasion, but it’s the way I am. I’m sorry if I’ve tasted drugs, alcohol and banned substances under 21. Mama, if you were here, I wouldn’t be like this. It’s not like I’m blaming you for my fuck ups! It’s just that life would have been so different if you were here. Howard would still be here, and the Starks would be that perfectly beautiful family that everybody envies.

“But we’re not. We’re a broken wreck, Mama. We can’t do this family thing without you. But you’re gone, and you can’t return to us, no matter how much you want it or how much we want it.

“Mama, I’m a stupid boy who makes stupid decisions. If you were alive right now, I’d probably be smothering you with kisses as I beg for your forgiveness.”

Tony pauses to wipe a stray tear hanging over his collar.

“I love you Mama, but I won’t be the son you’d be proud of anymore,” he says thickly. “I saw the letter you left for me before you gave birth. Believe it or not, Howard kept it in mint condition, in the one place he knew I’d never check because I didn’t need it. It was in the dictionary.” He sniffles.

“I kept that promise you asked of me, Mom. I’ve tried my best to keep this family alive, even without you, but in truth, it died the moment you did. It was gone the moment you were gone. Mama, please forgive me, but I think I have to be selfish this time.

“I can’t be selfless for this family anymore. I don’t deserve to be, nor can I do it. Will you still love me, Mama? For all the things I’ve fucked up? For all the promises I’ve broken?

“I used to hate you, Mama. I couldn’t understand why you weren’t here. I couldn’t understand why you left, and then Dad left, and I was left with Obie, who tried so hard to make me smile, but I couldn’t.

“Everyday at school, kids would talk about their mothers. Talk about what their mommies were doing, what their mommies made for them for recess, or how beautiful their mommy was.

“I never joined in on those talks. What could I say? _‘My mama’s dead!’_ So I didn’t say a word.

“I wasn’t ashamed of you, Mama. Really. Cross my heart. I just had nothing to say about a woman I didn’t know. But I read your letter, and it was the first time I ever cried so hard I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t live with myself for weeks. I was a sack of depression oozing loneliness and sadness.

“You’ll understand, won’t you, Mama? You’ll understand why I’ll never do your perfect reputation justice. It’s because there’s too much Howard in me. Howard could never be good. Howard always had to be bad. It was in him. It was him. It was who he was.

“And I am my father’s son,” he concludes weakly. “Sorry Mama.”

He stands up, dusts himself off and walks away from the grave. He walks straight to his car, unlocking his car door open and notices the pink scented post-it note stuck on his dashboard.

_I understand._

It sends shivers rolling down his spine. He remembers prayers, and chants to wards off ghosts. But he doesn’t think he’d want to ward off the spirit of his mother, unless it would be Woman in Black-esque. Half-fearfully, he reaches out a shaky, unsure hand out to touch the post-it note.

It holds to be solid and papery to his touch, so he brings it up to his nose and smells dainty freesias and soft lavender.

Tears roll down his cheeks once more as he whispers, “Thanks, Ma.”


	6. Waiting For The End.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Linkin Park's Waiting for the End.

Loki tries to ignore the car that screams to a stop in front of him.

He just pushes the earpieces in harder, digging them into his ear canal, where hopefully, they’d stay there forever, blasting music to soothe his aggravated soul.

“Well look up, Loki. Your chariot awaits,” an annoyingly familiar voice rings in his ears, cutting through the music annoyingly and he hisses a curse quietly. Of all people to see him in this unstable state, it has to be Tony Stark.

“Go away, Stark. I doubt you understand the concepts of privacy, peace and _solitude,”_ he snaps. Tony clicks his tongue. “Ooh, so touchy. Did Ice Ice Baby get frostbite?”

Loki doesn’t like Tony at this point of time. He hates Tony’s guts, Tony’s voice, Tony’s inability to be knocked down, and Tony’s stupid pop culture references. He isn’t a hipster. He doesn’t get half of what Tony is trying to say, most of the time.

“Stop being so witty and get the hell out of here,” he commands, glaring at the arrogant rich boy in shades and his black Cadillac.

Tony sniggers. “No can do, sugarplum. It’s a public place. I have every right to be here. Now, do you want to sulk there all day or do you require a lift from your humble steed?”

Loki sighs and rubs his temples. Tony is not helping at all to the migraine rolling around in Loki’s head. “Can I stay here and sulk?” he asks finally. Tony shakes his head. “Brilliant,” Loki sighs. “Alright, I’ll come with you, you irritating bastard.” He stands up and brushes the gravel away from the seat of his pants.

Tony hoots in victory. “Awesome! Hop on in!”

Loki rolls his eyes but complies.

And then Tony steps on it.

Loki has never understood the saying _hit the pedal to the metal_ until he’s in the car with one of the most _crazed_ drivers in existence.

“So,” Tony begins. “Remember what you told me this afternoon at school?” Loki smirks at him. “Oh, I do. I still savor every word I launched at you.”

Tony groans. “Alright, alright, I get it! I’m a prick, I get it. Stop rubbing it my face,” he mutters sullenly. Loki smiles snidely. “Oh good; you understood what I said,” he says with malicious glee.

Tony rolls his eyes. “You are such a supervillain. Anyway, I want to take you up on that offer you laid on the table.” Loki raises an eyebrow. “You do know I meant that theoretically? I would never sully my badass rebel reputation by hanging out with the likes of you,” he stares pointedly up and down at Tony. Tony blushes furiously. “But wouldn’t you benefit more?” he argues. “I mean, you get a new title right next to badass. How does ‘corruptor of good dudes’ sound?” he wheedles and Loki seems to contemplate on it.

“It would look good on my resume…“ He muses thoughtfully. Tony sends him an unimpressed glance.

“I’ll do it, Stark,” he decides. “But until the time is right, do not inform your little heroic anti-bullying clique that seems to hate me so much. I’d like to corrupt you in peace.”

Tony grimaces. “That totally sounded really dirty, Lokes.”

“First things first, do not call me Lokes. Loki or Badass-est of Them All will work, but not Lokes. Secondly, do not put a dirty connotation on anything I say, Stark. I assumed you were a good guy?” Loki questions.

Tony shrugs. “I said I was good, not pure.” Loki rolls his eyes. “Figures.”

They ride together in companionable silence after, Loki wondering how to turn Tony into someone quite like him, Tony wondering what the hell he just got into.

-

Tony drops him off a block away from his house, as per his instructions.

“Do not tell anyone,” Loki reminds him and sets off. He ignores the sense in him screaming to stop and stay with Tony, for he has to check on his mother, and he doesn’t think he can stand Stark’s babbling any longer.

Loki stops and hesitates at the front door, before pulling out his key and unlocking the door. The door swings open and the sound echoes emptily across the house. His heart stutters and it feels like his worst nightmare has come into fulfillment in front of his eyes.

The front hall is a mess, Frigga’s favorite vase smashed on the floor, the shards intertwining with the roses, and the table where the vase used to stand is overturned, one the legs splintered in half.

Aghast, Loki runs through the whole house, taking in the mess and chaos and the general destruction, as well as the lack of people around. He sees the hastily scribbled note in Frigga’s worried handwriting.

_Loki,_

_The neighbors have filed a noise complaint against your father shortly after you left. He went on a rampage, much to Thor’s surprise who loosened his grip on your father. He attacked the neighbors, and now we all have to go the precinct to resolve this little issue._

_Dinner’s in the refrigerator.  Heat it up, put it on a plate, and eat, boy! If ever I find the casserole untouched by the time I return, I will force feed you._

_Love, Frigga_

Loki gnaws on his lower lip, a nasty habit he acquired sometime in the last years, and contemplates on what to do.

Should he go to the precinct? Or should he stay here and clean this mess up?

Both, he decides. He’ll clean this up and then go to the precinct after he has dinner. He doesn’t want Frigga to force feed him.

He pulls out a casserole of lasagna out of the fridge, and he heats it up patiently in the microwave.

Dumping half of its content on a plate, he sits down on the table and gobbles down Frigga’s best. It’s his favorite, he thinks fondly as he chews.

He finishes up his plate, and sets it on the sink. He squares his shoulders, sighs deeply to himself, and gets ready to fight his way out of the house via broom and dustpan. He sidesteps the mess, and makes his way carefully through the debris. He heads over to the cleaning cabinet and pulls out the broom and dustpan.

He begins clearing out a path, sweeping away busily, sweeping away broken bits of vase, wood splinters, and strangely, shreds of red and blue cloth. Odin must’ve ripped a new one into Thor. Literally. He snickers to himself as the mess begins to subside.

He returns the tables and chair to their former positions, straightens out the picture frames and throws the dust and debris down the trashcan.

“So much for being badass,” he sighs to himself, dusting his hands off.

He grabs his keys again and heads out the door, locking the door securely behind him as he ventures out into the chilly night on his way to the precinct, three blocks away.


	7. Fences.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Paramore's song Fences.

Tony comes home to an empty house.

He always does, because Grace is always halfway around the country with her religious crusade or something, and she can’t be assed to hire a maid or something. Tony doesn’t want to, because a maid is another person to pretend to like, another person to be nice to.

He twirls his keys around, reveling in the tinkle and jingle against the deafening silence. He likes noise, but Grace doesn’t. So he built himself a soundproof room to blast Black Sabbath and AC/DC out at full capacity without Grace striding in and clicking the sound system off.

The emptiness should bother him. It really should. But it only makes him ache, and long for the days when Obie clashed and clanged around the house and laughed at loud TV shows, and yelled at Tony to get him a beer. Where have the times gone, indeed.

He wanders around the house aimlessly, walking through rooms and plodding about in the hallways, and he wishes he has something better to do with his life. He wonders what Loki will teach him, and if it would drive away the sadness, depression and loneliness. He wonders if having no emotions, if not giving a fuck was better than getting hit in the crossfire.

He wonders if he can lose it all.

And then he realizes he doesn’t know if it’s worth it in the end.

-

Loki arrives at the police precinct, cold and squinty-eyed. The wind flew about his face on the way, and he hates wind in his face. It makes him feel like a dog hanging out of a moving car’s window.

He sees Odin arguing angrily with the police officer, and Frigga and Thor calming and restraining him respectively. He smirks, because Odin isn’t a speaker. He’s a fighter. Loki knows he’s the speaker in the family. He knows he can worm his way out of a situation using his tongue. But of course, he means it only figuratively. He doesn’t give away blowjobs or anything like candy. They have to work for it to get a piece of Loki.

He lopes over to where the police officer is leveling Odin with a hard glare as Odin shouts, “I’m a retired army general! You can’t sue me!” The police officer rolls his eyes as he intones, “You don’t have military immunity anymore, sir,” and Odin hisses and spits hatefully. Frigga spots Loki making a beeline for the police officer and breathes a sigh of relief. Thor’s frown of concern melts into relief as well.

 _Get Odin out of this mess,_ their eyes plead him. He smirks wickedly. Always leave it to Loki to sort out his father’s messes, because he’s the only one strategically talented enough to do it.

“Good evening, officer,” he purrs, and Odin spots him, quieting down almost dangerously.

“Good evening sir,” the police officer replies politely, nodding his way, a tough poker face firmly in place. Loki proceeds to charm the pants and the case off and away the officer.

Ten minutes later, they’re all leaving the precinct together.

Loki can’t help but radiate pure smugness, because after all, Odin _does_ need him. Odin just grits his teeth and keeps on walking, seemingly intent to walk home without releasing the pent-up air in his ruddy cheeks and breaking the silence.

Frigga just looks like she’s mentally thanking the gods for Loki, and Thor is watching their father suspiciously, now on guard for any sudden movements from Odin.

Loki feels triumphantly elated.

And pompous. Very pompous.

-

Before Tony can utter a word, Loki’s slim index finger is resting slightly on the plump of his lips.

Loki clicks his tongue. “Not yet, Stark. One must learn to appreciate the calm peace of morning without your ceaseless blather,” he admonishes.

Tony pouts.

Loki chuckles. “Patience, Stark.”

Tony nods. Loki casts an appraising glance up and down Tony’s body. “First rule of being a badass, don’t dress like a dork and don’t slick your hair back from your face with gel. This isn’t the 1950’s. Dark, neutral colors will suffice,” Loki begins.

Tony rolls his eyes and Loki pulls his finger away from Tony’s lips. “To be a badass you gotta dress good?” Tony asks sarcastically and Loki nods solemnly. “It is the first thing people will see about you, Stark. They will base all your actions and justify them by the clothes you wear. They will not see your clean heart,” he snorts. “They will see your leather jacket and washed-out band tee. They will call you names, and those names will stick to your forehead for a long time until the rest of your existence.”

Tony ponders about that for a moment. “I get the logic,” he concedes.

“Second rule of being a badass: build your fences. Set restrictions, and do not let anyone in beyond the barriers you’ve created for yourself. It adds mystique, and it separates you from the world. When you’re prepared and surrounded by fences, nothing can harm you emotionally. People watch the likes of you, Stark. They watch your progress and await your downfall. They will amuse themselves with fantasies of your failure or collapse. That’s why you must never let them in. You must never let them chop down your fences. Or else they will win and you will become nothing.”

Loki gestures Tony to sit down beside him.

“Why are we meeting at a park again?” Tony asks, raising a hand tentatively. “Because I do not want anyone to see me coaching you into badassery,” Loki replies nonchalantly. Tony grimaces at him. “Alright, alright. But you will be proud to call me your student one day,” Tony teases. Loki rolls his eyes. “Stark, I am not a sensei. Or your master or your teacher. I am only showing you the way I live,” Loki frowns.

“A guy can dream,” Tony sighs.

“Tell me this, Stark. Why do you want to become like me? A rebel, a badass. Why not stay the nice old Tony?” Loki looks at him, eyes burning and curious. Tony looks straight back at him, capturing in a Kodak moment the exact shade of green Loki’s eyes is. He will never have enough words to describe it, because he personally thinks green or emerald is too weak to describe it.

“Because I’m tired,” Tony whispers. “I can’t pretend to be perfect forever. I can’t follow everything people tell me to do, and all I want is to let it go. The emotions, the sensations, the urges, all of it gone like their balloons and I’m cutting their strings one by one. I don’t want to act shiny and perfect anymore.”

Loki whispers, “I understand,” and Tony really thinks Loki does. It’s the way his eyes gleam. The way his body moves, like he’s subconsciously dodging hits. The way his smirk sometimes falters and is replaced by a dark, brooding look.

They both understand each other, in that moment.

And Tony wants to be a badass, to turn off his feelings and be separate from the world.

He thinks it would be nice to be alone together with Loki.


	8. Playing God.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Paramore's Playing God.

The moment the call clicks on and connects Tony to Loki, they both say the same thing: “I can’t come today.”

An awkward silence follows, because they said the same thing, sounded exactly the same time, and even inhaled at the same beat.

Tony’s first to break the silence because it makes him fidget. “Let’s never do that again.”

Loki’s quick to answer. “Agreed. Why are you not coming today?”

Tony exhales in frustration and anger. “Father dearest wants an all-day talk with me via Skype. What about you, why aren’t you coming today?”

Loki sighs and rubs his temples. “Just like you, Stark. My annoying father has demanded that I cancel all of my engagements today in favor of having a heart-to-heart talk with my family,” Loki drawls sarcastically. Tony can practically feel Loki rolling his eyes across the line.

Tony laughs. “Father trouble, huh?” Loki’s mouth quirks to one side as he replies, “Yes, but they always seem to think I’m the trouble.” Tony smiles in agreement on the other line. “You got that right,” Tony concurs as strongly as he can without attracting the attention of Grace.

Tony’s voice is soft, and slightly hesitant this time as he cradles the phone and whispers, “I have to go. I’d really, really love to go today, but I’m stuck with putting up with my bothersome dad.” Loki smiles absently. “I do as well. Now go, Stark. Attend to yours, and I will attend to mine.”

Tony pauses. “Is it just me, or did that sound really dirty?” Loki sighs in exasperation. “Stark, everything sounds dirty to you,” he complains. “Do you always have sex on the brain?”

Loki senses that Tony’s leering on the other line. “Only when I’m on the phone with you,” he teases. Loki chuckles briefly in disbelief. “Goodbye Stark,” he says, and ends the call with a click.

Tony pouts at the hang-up.

Loki grins at his phone.

But both of their expressions smooth out into tense poker faces as they both pocket their phones and march back inside their respective houses.

They both sigh deeply, one hand on the door.

They twist the knob gingerly, hesitatingly and step inside.

-

“So you’re my jailer for today, huh?” Tony gripes jokingly at Grace, propping his feet on the coffee table, and Grace swats his feet away irritably, caressing her bump. “I just have to guard you until Howard comes,” she clarifies. “If I really could, I wouldn’t spend any more time with you than necessary, you annoying brat,” she grimaces.

“I love you too,” Tony mocks.

She shoots him her best death glare to no avail. A few hours with Loki has taught Tony the art of reckless and impudent speaking, as well as lounging around like a badass all the time. After all, part of being badass is the rebellious, I don’t give a fuck image.

“There he is,” she sighs in relief as Howard’s bloated, spoiled face pops on the screen. Tony represses a groan as Grace scampers away to lock herself in her bedroom.

“Hey kiddo,” Howard greets him. “Tony, you’re looking extremely spoiled. What is Grace feeding you over there?” Tony snipes, “Just the usual, Dad. Resentment and frustration are her favorite food to cram down my throat. What about you? Drain any trust funds lately?”

On screen, Howard’s raising his palms up. “Whoa boy, calm yourself and speak to your elders with respect.” Tony’s anger flares despite Loki’s repeated warnings to never let his temper get the best of him.

“Oh really; is that now?” Tony drawls. “Respect, huh? I’ll tell who I respect, old man,” he spits venomously. “I respect people who don’t abandon their families. I respect men who don’t waste their lives in an intoxicated haze and banging sluts left and right. In short, _I don’t and I won’t respect you, Howard Stark._ We may share the same last name and the same lineage, but that’s the only connection I’ll allow. I’m tired of living in your polluted shadows,” he hisses.

Cyber Howard’s pixilated face contracts in surprise and his eyes bug out comically. “DON’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT YOUNG MAN!” he hollers, and Obadiah pops on the screen as he pulls a raging Howard away from the screen.

Tony leans back. “That’s what you get for trying to play God,” he says calmly, watching chaos unfold on the screen.

-

Loki sits, unmoving and quiet in his designated chair, and watches his family.

Odin’s unnerved by the way Loki stares at him, but continues. “We need to solve this as a family, if we wish to move on from this dilemma,” he says strongly. Loki smothers away a snicker. Odin’s sharp ears catch the faint strain and his eyes zero in on Loki. “Is there anything you would like to say, Loki?” he asks in a very controlled voice.

Loki shrugs. “Nothing much, except I don’t think we’ll resolve this dilemma, as you so quaintly put it,” he points out.

Odin’s eye twitches but he asks, “Why do you think so, Loki?” he asks in a strangled voice. Loki smiles innocently. “Only because I despise this family with down to my very core,” he says pleasantly, leaning forward as if the topic interests him.

A vein is popping out of Odin’s forehead very dangerously. “Repeat what you said, boy,” Odin says softly and slowly, pronouncing each word with ease. “Repeat what you said and I will flay you to death. You do not speak of this family with disrespect!” he culminates with a mighty roar and with an impressive slam of his fists down the table.

“Loki, please stop this,” Frigga whispers, wringing her hands. “Do not anger your father any more,” she begs. Loki deliberately ignores her plea and talks, smiling pleasantly at his father.

“You know Father dearest,” he begins, a hint of mockery in his tone as he locks his fingers together. “I used to like you. I used to respect you, even. But now my eyes have opened to the truth and I will not let myself be fooled by your selfish motivations in raising me. A fool I was for believing you raised me selflessly! I know the truth now,” he emphasizes mockingly, fixing his intense, pinning stare on his father.

“How dare you?” Odin hisses, gritting his teeth together and glaring at Loki with all the hate in the world. “I fed you, I clothed you and I raised you! And you pay me this way, with your blatant insubordination? I will not have this, boy,” Odin warns.

Loki barks a bitter laugh. “You mean you provided the monetary means necessary to keep me alive,” he corrects Odin hatefully. “And how dare I? _How dare I_? Oh I dare, Odin. I dare throw my disobedience to your face because you are not my father! Admit this to your beloved family’s face!” he spits. “You took me as a babe, from Laufey’s burning house! You took me to teach Laufey a lesson! _You took me for revenge._ ”

Everyone is quiet; aghast at what they just witnessed. Tears are slowly rolling down Frigga’s cheeks and she blinks as a raw whisper emanates from her: “Is it true, husband?” she asks weakly.

Tense and unmoving, Odin nods stonily.

Thor’s grip on his favorite coffee mug tightens and it breaks.

“No,” Thor declares. “I don’t believe it. Loki, how can you trouble our dear mother with lies?” he asks his brother, distressed and unbelieving.

Loki leans back, calm and easy as he replies, “Do you not have eyes, Thor? Odin has just nodded. All I say is true.”

Thor shakes his head in mute disbelief as Loki pushes the table away from him, standing up. “You call me the abomination, self-centered and reckless?” he whispers, razor-sharp and deadly. “You insult me, and call me names. Ha! Now the joke is on you, Odin. You brought me here, now you have to deal with me.”

Loki turns and walks away, savoring in what may be his greatest triumph yet.


End file.
